


you're gonna go far, kid

by cherryvanilla



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: 1990s, Ghost Hunters, High School, M/M, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Summer, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: And just like that is how Casey Connor ends up on a ghost hunt in South Dakota with Zeke Tyler.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/gifts).



> Thanks to A and C for beta. Title by The Offspring.

After the dust settles -- well, no, strike that. The dust has _barely_ settled when Casey is suddenly thrust into fame. He’s a national celebrity for a while. Delilah half adores it, half tolerates it. 

They have a good run -- a few months, some hands-below-the-waist action, the most you can hope for in high school. But nothing gold can stay, or some shit like that (although it looks like Stokes and Stan are giving this thing their all, talking about applying to the same colleges, getting a place together, the whole nine yards.) 

Casey doesn’t even know what he wants to do from one day to the next any more, can’t imagine thinking about college right now; can imagine the idea of living with someone even less. 

It’s just that, after saving the world from aliens (or, okay, the town at least. Casey’s pretty sure it could’ve spun out of control fast, though), the thought of getting a summer job feels rather anti-climatic. But his parents keep looking at him like he’s the one who was the alien, and Casey feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin if he has to spend one more moment in that house trying to be normal and acting like there aren’t still reporters on his front lawn sometimes when he goes out to throw the garbage. 

He’s been needing to get away since the school year ended, has found himself - oddly enough - sitting on the bleachers on the football field. 

Casey figured he'd hate the things now, but it's actually the opposite. He finds them more comforting than ever before, enjoys sitting and taking in the fact that the school is still standing, looking around and realizing everything is back to normal -- or as normal as things can get. 

He’s got his headphones on and he’s writing some half-assed story about a guy who doesn’t get the girl when he looks up to see Zeke coming around the side of the bleachers. Casey is surprised he’s by himself -- nowadays it seems he and Miss Burke are permanently locked at the wrists. Or lips. 

“Hey, man,” Zeke says when he spots him, eyes surprised. He climbs up the few rows and sits beside him, pulling out a cigarette. “Sup.” 

“Not much.”

Zeke nods to the pack in his hand. “Want one?” 

Normally Casey would say no, but hell, he defeated aliens, he can smoke a friggin’ clove cigarette. When he shrugs and says, “Sure,” he can tell Zeke was ready for him to decline. 

Zeke lights it for Casey, cupping his fingers around the cigarette. A shiver runs through him at the action. 

“How’s Miss Burke?” 

Casey knows she’s teaching a summer class, figured Zeke probably walked her there or something stupidly romantic like that. It feels weird to call someone Zeke is dating ‘Miss,’ but old habits die hard. 

“Better now that she just broke up with me, I suppose.” 

Casey whips around to face him. “Oh. Uh, sorry, man.” 

Zeke shrugs, takes a long drag of the cigarette. His lungs are still full of smoke when he says, “Yeah, well, I guess even though I’m not a minor it was still too freaky in the long run.” 

“The power difference thing or the ‘I killed you when your body was controlled by aliens’ thing?” 

“Either? Both?” 

“Sorry,” Casey says again, feeling like a broken record. 

“Eh. Wouldn’t have lasted. Like you and D, right?” 

Zeke cuts a look at him then, out of the corner of his eye, and Casey’s face goes hot. 

He looks down, blowing out smoke toward the slots in the bleachers. “Yeah, like us.”

Casey can feel Zeke’s eyes on him. It makes him itch. 

“Yeah, well.” Zeke’s quiet for a bit and Casey steals a glance out of the corner of his eye -- sees the way he’s leaning back, resting his elbows on the bleacher behind them. The bottom of Zeke’s shirt has ridden up, revealing a sliver of skin. Casey cuts his gaze away like he’s been burned. 

“You still the golden boy with the media?” 

Casey shrugs, takes another drag. “Dying down a bit. Don’t get why you didn’t get the same kind of attention.” 

Zeke snorts, kicking his legs out in front of him. “Please, I’m the bad boy. You’re the All-American sweetheart. Apple pie and rosy cheeks and all that shit.” 

It’s Casey’s turn to snort. His cheeks feel hot, and he really doesn’t want to prove Zeke right with that ‘rosy’ comment. He looks down at his feet as he says, “I’m really not -- any of that.” 

_And you're smart as fuck but hate to admit it_ , is what he wants to say and doesn't.

“Bullshit,” Zeke says, dismissive, blowing out smoke between them. 

Casey shrugs, changes the subject back. “Been getting a lot of letters. Weird ones. Like, people wanting me to help with their hauntings or some shit. Like I’ve got these qualifications now.” 

“Seriously?” Zeke says, sitting up. “Shit, man, what are you waiting for?” 

Casey laughs, looking at him. “Uh… I don’t actually _have_ any paranormal activity skills?” 

“So? Beats hanging around here all summer, going through the fucking motions. Road trip, man!” he exclaims, slapping Casey’s knee. “C’mon, I’ll go with you.” 

And just like that is how Casey Connor ends up on a ghost hunt in South Dakota with Zeke Tyler.  
_______________________________

It's a 16 hour drive to Pierre, South Dakota. They leave at 6 a.m. to beat the traffic.

When Casey had said, “You know, we could just fly,” Zeke just scoffed. 

“I've got a sweet ride and nothin’ but time, little man, so why don't you just live a little?”

Zeke had worked for months getting his car fixed up, refused to let it die like that. Casey held back that he'd lived enough in the past few months for anyone, thank you very much, and decided to just go with the flow. 

Zeke’s an interesting road trip companion. He blasts music loudly so they can’t really talk -- noisy stuff like Tool, Alice in Chains, Nine Inch Nails. 

Casey’s more of a classic rock person -- Pink Floyd and Zeppelin. But he also likes his fair share of indie bands. 

Zeke chain smokes and belches and doesn’t let him touch the stereo. They've decided to do 10 hours straight and the rest the next morning. They only really talk at rest stops, and Casey realizes that no matter how intense of an experience he shared with Zeke, he doesn’t really know him. 

He hadn't really known Delilah either, even after they started dating. He’d fallen for this idea of her, and then he just projected it onto their relationship. Casey’s pretty sure she never truly got him, either. They were who they'd needed to be for one another. 

It surprises him how badly he wants to actually _know_ Zeke. 

“Don't you just hate that?” Zeke says, startling Casey out of his thoughts. 

They're stopped for lunch at a roadside cafe somewhere in Illinois. Zeke is sucking at a milkshake through a straw. It's even more distracting than when Delilah would lick a blowpop. 

“What?”

“Uncomfortable silences.”

Casey’s startled into laughter, and then they're off talking about Tarantino films. 

Casey finds he learns a few more things about Zeke that afternoon.  
________________

They stay over at a Motel 6 in Austin, Minnesota, after grabbing burgers at a diner. At least there was no milkshake this time. The room is small and the bathroom is dirty, but there’s two beds and a TV at least. Zeke channel surfs while Casey writes in his notebook. 

“Sci-fi shit?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, whatever,” Casey answers absently, looking up when he hears Zeke’s quiet laughter. 

“I meant what you’re writing, dude.” 

“Oh.” Casey blushes, looking at the TV where MTV is on low. “No. Think I’m taking a break from sci-fi, for a while. If you know what I mean.”

Zeke laughs some more and flops down on his back. His t-shirt rides up again, and Casey doesn’t look away fast enough. “Could’ve fooled me with this little trip.” 

“It’s something to do, like you said.” 

He isn’t sure why he feels so defensive. 

Zeke sits up again, looks at Casey evenly. “So you don’t think we’re gonna see any ghosts on this trip, man?” 

Last year Casey would’ve said of course not, but, well. He also wouldn’t ever have guessed aliens really did exist. 

“Anything’s possible,” Casey says quietly, and writes about the guy -- who didn’t get the girl -- having a crush on his friend. Who happens to be a dude. 

“Yeah,” Zeke says, sounding distant. 

Later, when he’s supposed to be asleep, Casey tries to pretend he can’t hear Zeke jerking off in the other bed, low, bitten-off moans falling from his lips. 

He gets hard instantly and doesn’t touch himself until he hears Zeke’s breathing even out. He comes almost silently in his hand after only a few strokes. He thinks about Zeke’s mouth wrapped around that straw and how his mouth would feel on his dick. 

He sighs loudly after he comes, hand sticky, heart pounding. 

Shit.  
________________________

They get on the road early the next morning after breakfast, Casey barely able to look Zeke in the eye. 

“So what do we even do when we get there?” Casey asks, because it's a safe topic and a lot better than, “So that's what you sound like when you whack it, huh?”

Zeke shrugs, blows a bubble with his gum. “I bought an EMF reader.”

That startles a laugh out of Casey and he turns his head toward Zeke, fingers tapping against the window. “Where’d you get that?”

“Internet. You'd be surprised what you can find on that eBay site.”

Casey shakes his head, smile tugging at his lips. “How do you even know if it works, man?”

Zeke shoots him a patient look. “Case, how we gonna know if it _doesn't_?”

“Good point,” Casey mumbles, ignoring the heat in his cheeks at the casual nickname. 

They arrive at the Williams residence around 1p.m. with no real course of action still. They're greeted warmly and served lunch. Mr. Williams works at a mine in town. Mrs. Williams is a housewife. They’ve got two kids and a white picket fence, and Casey can smell fresh pie baking. They’re the picture of rural America. 

They ask about Casey and Zeke’s experience first because, Casey figures, everyone's curious to hear something other than the canned media coverage. It's a little weird to talk about still, but at least it's familiar ground. Unlike what they're dealing with here.

Mrs. Williams launches into a description of their disturbances. Why they feel it's a haunting. Cold spots in the house, flickering lights, banging sounds. Casey feels like that just sounds like electrical and heating shit, but he's not a homeowner, either, so what does he know. 

The Williamses pack the kids up in the car to go stay with Mrs. Williams’ sister. 

She presses a piece of paper in Casey's hand. “Call us when it's done.” 

Casey swallows hard and nods. These people have let them into their house, left them food and apple pie, and are depending on them. They're so out of their league here. 

“We took out alien life forms, Case,” Zeke says when Casey voices his concerns, “I think we can handle one ghost.”

Casey sighs and puts his stuff in one of the guest bedrooms after Zeke’s beat him in rock, paper, scissors for the main one. 

They check out the house and property, Zeke pointing the EMF reader around like he knows what he's doing. 

“I _have_ seen Ghostbusters, you know,” Zeke grumbles when Casey tells him he should run it closer to the surfaces he's checking.

“Yeah, because Bill Murray’s an actual expert on the supernatural.”

“Nah,” Zeke says, turning a sly grin on him. “Harold Ramis is.”

Casey shoves into him with his shoulder before he knows what he's doing, then freezes, the action too playful for their dynamic. Zeke doesn't say anything though, just presses into Casey before moving away. Sometimes he forgets their height difference, but it's kind of impossible when Zeke’s right next to him like this, looking down at him and -- 

\-- Casey ignores his sudden racing pulse, focuses on the steady beeping of the EMF, which is showing no signs of elevation. 

They take a break and watch some TV, finishing off the rest of the pie while Jerry Springer yells at his guests. 

They fall asleep on the couch together, the long drive finally catching up with them. When Casey groggily comes to, he notices it's nearly dark out. He also notices Zeke’s head is now on his shoulder, body curled to the side, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt is too thick for summertime, but he's got it rolled up to his elbows. Casey’s eyes catch on his golden skin, the dark hair on his arms. Zeke’s breath is hot against his shoulder, and Casey’s body feels frozen, wanting badly to both move and never leave. 

Before he can decide on a course of action, Zeke moans softly, snuffling as he slowly awakens. His cheek rubs against Casey’s shoulder before he pulls back, their eyes meeting.

“Uh, hey,” Zeke says. His voice is an octave deeper, sleep-rough, and it goes straight to Casey’s dick. “Sorry, man.”

“S’okay,” Casey's replies, hoping his heart isn't thumping as loudly as he thinks it is. 

“Times’it,” Zeke slurs. 

Casey checks his watch. “7:30. They said the disturbances seem to come at night, so I guess we should -- get ready.”

“Right,” Zeke says, yawning as he stands. His shirt rides up (that really needs to stop, seriously), and Casey tears his gaze away. “Let's do this.”

______________________

‘Doing this’ is basically doing nothing. They put down some salt along the edges of the rooms, because Casey read up that it can trap spirits. He’s not looking forward to cleaning all this up. Zeke continues with the EMF, tracing it along the walls and crawling on the floor to check under beds. Casey would say the whole thing was ridiculous if he weren’t so stupidly into the way Zeke’s baggy jeans stretch across his ass when he bends over like that. 

“Maybe it only comes out for them,” Zeke says when they’re sprawled out on the mattress in the master bedroom. He suggested they camp in there, since that’s where the cold spots were felt. Casey can’t really concentrate on cold spots right now when he feels hot all over, Zeke’s knee brushing his own every time he shifts, restless like he needs some of his homemade junk, even though he swore he never touched the stuff. Still, Zeke’s fingers are tapping noisily against his leg, and it's kind of hypnotic. 

“Do you uh, need a cigarette or something?” 

“Probably,” Zeke says after a brief pause, dragging a hand over his face. “Not gonna leave you in here alone, though.” 

Warmth blooms big in his chest. Casey turns his head on the pillow, blinks at Zeke. “I’ll be fine. I took down aliens, you know.” 

“We took down aliens,” Zeke replies, voice gruff. “Still. Not gonna smoke inside and -- whatever. We’re doing this together.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything to do,” Casey admits. He doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed. 

Zeke catches his gaze, and Casey’s suddenly lost in those stupidly dark brown eyes. 

“No?” 

He shrugs, a shiver running through him that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. “I think, uh, sometimes people just need a reason for shit. A way to explain the unexplainable. Excuses. I dunno.” 

“Hmm.” Zeke looks away, and Casey immediately misses him. Which is ridiculous, since he’s right here. 

Zeke’s quiet for so long that Casey thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he says, barely audible, “Kinda like this trip, then.” 

Casey’s head jerks, but Zeke’s just staring up at the ceiling, eyes closed. 

“Um--” 

“Like needing some kind of excuse to hang out together,” Zeke says in a rush, ignoring Casey’s failed attempt at words. 

Casey’s mind reels. 

“You -- think we need an excuse to hang out?” 

Zeke turns to him then, eyebrows raised. “Well, we haven’t exactly, man. Despite supposedly putting all those dumb high school labels behind us.” 

“You were dating Miss Burke!” 

“And you were dating Delilah,” Zeke replies, voice low and lazy, drawing the words out in that way that makes Casey crazy. Slow like molasses and liquid hot. 

“I had time for other people,” Casey points out. “Stokes and Stan--” 

Zeke hums. “Still, it started out as a group, but at the end there it was kind of you and me against the world, you know? Until it wasn’t anymore. Until the aliens were gone, along with the excuse.” 

Zeke puts air quotes around the last word and Casey’s got his mouth open to retort again, when he realizes he’s got nothing. Because he _gets_ it. Zeke didn’t know how to do the one-on-one thing with him, now. And to be honest, Casey didn’t know how to do the one-on-one thing with Zeke, either. The guy still intimidated him sometimes. Until this trip. Until he got to spend 24 hours on the road and in a motel and learning what made Zeke tick, what made Zeke _him_. 

_Excuses_ , he thinks. _Yeah_. 

And suddenly, the whole thing probably being a wash doesn’t make him feel so disappointed. He doesn’t need to find meaning in this house. He doesn’t need to save people. He’s on a bed with a hot guy who might actually be -- miraculously, amazingly -- into him. He can just be a junior in high school for a little while. 

Casey searches Zeke’s face, surprised to find some nervousness in his expression. He lets out a shaky laugh. “No one else here now, though,” he says, hoping Zeke gets it: that Casey’s come around full circle to the start of this conversation. That he’s right fucking here with him.

Zeke inhales sharply, bites the corner of his lip. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough like it was this morning. “No one else, man.” 

And then Zeke’s reaching over and hauling Casey in for a kiss, fingers warm on the back of his neck. 

The moan Casey lets out as their lips touch is downright embarrassing, and his cheeks immediately heat. He almost wants to pull back, run away, have a do-over. But Zeke’s fingers are flexing on the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and kissing him harder, other arm winding around Casey’s back to pull him closer, and Casey is lost to this. 

He goes, follows Zeke down this rabbit hole, even though it's terrifying as fuck; this one kiss is already undoing him more than anything with Delilah had, and she was his dream girl since he was a freshman. 

Casey’s half on top of Zeke before he can even blink, their thighs pressed together awkwardly, gasping against each other's mouths. The kisses are sloppy and off-center until they’re not. Until Zeke’s holding Casey in place, fingers ridiculously soft on the curve of his jaw, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the way he's licking his way into Casey’s mouth with intent, knowing what he wants and taking it. 

Casey startles into action after that, thrusting against him, when he realizes what Zeke wants is _him_. Impossible. Improbable. Implausible. Yet it’s happening. It isn’t another dumb jerk-off fantasy. Zeke is warm underneath him and warm all over, and Casey wants to touch him everywhere, so he does. His face, his head, his forearms where he scratches against the fine hairs there, leaving goosebumps in his wake. They don’t stop kissing, don’t stop thrusting together, Casey’s leg between Zeke’s, his dick rock-hard in his jeans. 

Zeke rolls them over, pressing Casey back into the pillows and biting at his mouth as he grunts, low in his throat, the press of Zeke’s cock making Casey shiver all over from the friction. 

The house is silent around them, no noises, no chills, nothing but this unknown cocoon. It feels nothing like making out with Delilah in his room, always aware of his surroundings: his parents just down the hall, his geeky room with shit that he shouldn’t have felt embarrassed over but still was. 

“God,” Zeke gasps when he finally breaks away, panting against Casey’s neck. He presses a hot kiss into his skin, mouth open and wet. “God, Case.” 

His hips jerk against Casey’s, and Casey grabs at him, pulls him closer, rucking up his shirt and scratching down his back. 

Zeke moans loudly and Casey feels it vibrate against his throat. 

Somehow, thought pushes its way to the front of Casey’s mind. “We can’t -- in their bedroom, we --” 

Zeke laughs, low and rough, sucking on his neck. “Man, this bed probably only sees action when they try to make babies. We’d be doing ‘em a favor.” 

“They’re not _paying_ us to -- to --” Casey trails off, unable to think any longer when Zeke is kissing up his neck, along his jaw, over to his ear. Sharp teeth tug on his lobe, leaving Casey gasping, hips rising off the mattress.

“To fuck?” Zeke’s voice is low and filthy. He bites down hard on Casey’s ear, and Casey moans so loud that if there is a spirit here, he’ll definitely get its attention. “Because, shit, I want you, man.” 

Casey can’t remember why he shouldn’t do this here, not with his body feeling like it's burning from the inside out and Zeke’s goddamn voice in his ear, like every evil temptation.

“At least kick off the blankets, dude,” Casey reasons, and Zeke's laughter is so delighted that Casey’s heart trips over in his chest. 

They do kick off the blankets. And their jeans and shirts. The sound of Zeke’s belt unbuckling echoes loud in his ears, and it feels he just discovered the meaning of life when Zeke’s zipper slides down, slow and deafening in what it means. 

Casey isn’t sure why they keep their boxers on but it just -- feels right. Maybe he's not the only one freaking out a little here. Maybe they both need some kind of safety net right now, no matter how badly the thought of Zeke's naked cock turns him on. 

They meet in the middle of the bed, and then Casey’s on top of Zeke and Zeke’s palms are fitting perfectly over his ass, squeezing and moving Casey against him as they find a rhythm again. 

Casey learns more things about Zeke that night. Like how if he bites at the hinge of his jaw it makes Zeke moan and shake, but not as much if he puts his mouth on the hollow of his neck. He learns that Zeke loves to press him down into the mattress and work his dick against the groove of Casey’s thigh, but he loves Casey sitting on top of him and slowly rocking them together even more. 

He learns that when you make Zeke Tyler come, his mouth drops open on a parted gasp, his eyelids flutter, and his cheeks go red, high splashes of color painting his face. He learns that round two can happen within five minutes, and that Zeke’s mouth is amazing to kiss but feels even better wrapped around his dick. 

Casey learns a few things about himself, too. Like how the back of his neck is apparently sensitive as fuck and Zeke scraping his nails against it while Casey blows him makes him come for a third time that night. 

He learns that he likes giving blowjobs maybe more than he likes receiving them. He learns that Zeke Tyler is a closet cuddler and holds him all night long, spooned against Casey’s back while they talk lazily and keep an ear out for disturbances. 

The house isn’t interested in them, and Casey isn’t interested in anything but Zeke. 

The next morning, Casey hears banging coming from the basement and shoots awake, stumbling out of bed naked and managing to throw on his boxers. He feels the sheets next to him as he passes and notes they’ve been cold for a while. His heart thuds in his chest as he races toward the sound, _Zeke Zeke Zeke_ a mantra in his mind. 

He comes to a stop halfway down the basement steps, blinking. “Uh, what are you --”

Zeke looks up, smiles slyly. Casey hates and loves the way it makes his heart beat triple time. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Figured I’d check out their heating system. My old man was an electrician, I know this shit like the back of my hand.” 

“Oh,” Casey says dumbly, dragging a hand through his already sleep-mussed hair. “Yeah, I was thinking about that yesterday.” 

Zeke grins at him again, before going back to his task. “Yeah, well, their wiring is all fucked up, and they’ve got a mice problem, and both of those things are probably causing the noises through the ducts and the random cold spots.” 

Casey laughs, shaking his head. “Jesus.” 

Zeke looks up at him, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. “What?” 

“Nothing, just. We came here to hunt a ghost and we’re leaving as handymen.” 

“Who’s we, buddy?” Zeke says, voice gruff. “Don’t see you getting your hands dirty. Now go make me some eggs.” He glances up at Casey, secret smile on his face, like the one he saw after they were all fucked out last night, Zeke crawling up the bed and flopping against Casey, sated and happy and kissing his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks. 

Casey doesn’t stop smiling all the way to the kitchen.  
_____________________________

Casey makes sure he washes the sheets before the Williamses get home. He just -- can’t in good conscience leave it like that. The room still smells like sex to him, but Casey wonders if it’s just sense memory at this point. He calls them after Zeke finishes fixing the heating system. 

“We didn’t really hear anything at all, but this is probably the cause,” Casey tells Mrs. Williams into the phone, who apologizes profusely and babbles about how foolish she feels. 

“We’ll be home in a few hours. I’m just so sorry.” 

Casey had kind of stopped listening at that point, given that Zeke was standing behind him with a plate of eggs in one hand and his other wrapped around Casey’s waist as he mouthed along the back of his neck. 

They kiss in the kitchen in between loading the dishwasher and then make out on the couch until the clothes are done, Casey in Zeke’s lap and Zeke’s hands all over him. It feels stupidly domestic. It feels like everything Casey didn’t think he could see for himself, only a week ago positive that he’d forever be clumsy at relationships and sex. This shouldn’t feel so easy with Zeke, this quick, but it does. 

They take off around 1 p.m. with money in their pockets and repeated apologies from both Mr. and Mrs. Williams. 

“We just -- we’re so sorry. I guess we’ve been pretty focused on the idea that other beings could be out there, after all that coverage with you boys,” Mrs. Williams says, shame heavy on her face. 

Casey watches as Zeke shakes his head, fingers tapping against his thigh. “Sometimes people get so caught up in the hype, they don’t see what’s right in front of them.” The words are low and quiet and carefully measured, like everything Zeke does. Like the way his gaze shifts to Casey as he finishes his words. 

Casey blushes furiously and bites down on the dumb, lovestruck smile that’s threatening to take over his face. He’s got to get this under control or this guy will get sick of him within a week. 

Zeke lets Casey drive and pulls out a cigarette, exhaling loudly after taking a drag. “Well. That was interesting.” 

Casey laughs, fingers twitching on the wheel. “Think our careers as ghost hunters are over?” 

“Could be,” Zeke hums. “Might wanna stick to your stories, Stephen King.” 

“I’ll probably enroll in Ohio State,” Casey says, something he’s been thinking and not thinking about. “Got a good writing program.” 

“Hmmm.” 

Zeke doesn't say anything and Casey’s skin itches. It’s stupid, but he wants to know if Zeke plans on sticking around. 

“I’ll uh. Probably go to community college, see what they can teach a guy who’s nearly been gacked by aliens.” 

Casey breathes out, smiling out at the dashboard. He looks over at Zeke, finds that he’s smiling right back. 

“Got an idea for another story,” he says, heart in his throat. Now or never. Seize the day. That’s his motto now and he’d rather know what this is now than wonder later. 

“Oh yeah?” Zeke says, feigning disinterest. 

“Yeah. Starts out as a ghost story but ends up a road trip romance.” 

Zeke’s quiet for far too long for Casey’s liking. 

“Sounds terrible,” he finally says, but his voice is low and fond and he’s reaching over to put his hand on Casey’s knee, fingers flexing . 

“Awful,” Casey agrees, and then he turns on some of Zeke’s music and hits the gas a little harder, the open road in front of them and the possibilities endless. 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This was ridiculously fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it, Naemi.


End file.
